


Hope County Chronicles

by PomoneCorse



Category: Far Cry 5
Genre: Gen, tags to be added as written, writing trashy articles for fun and profit
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-05
Updated: 2018-06-08
Packaged: 2019-05-18 13:29:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,370
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14853650
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PomoneCorse/pseuds/PomoneCorse
Summary: Take one investigative journalist, drop in the midst of one deranged cult, add a sprinkle of mistaken identity, and too many bullets to count.Shake, don't stir, and serve with little cocktail umbrellas. Don't be surprised by the coping mechanisms.





	1. John Seed’s Beard Actually a Demonspawn Leech?

**Author's Note:**

> big thanks to [ClockworkCourier](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ClockworkCourier/pseuds/ClockworkCourier) for letting me throw ideas at them about silly headlines.
> 
> Edit: OMG guys look at this   
> [john seed in a cucumber mask](http://peebsayle.tumblr.com/post/174641788138/pls-do-urself-a-favour-and-read-about-john-seed-in) by peebsayle!! this is just fantastic, i've been staring at this for five hours now

John never would have said he was overtly invested in his appearance. There were, after all, better things to focus on. For the soul, for the mind, for the body. Jacob, Joseph, their new sister Faith; their faces turned towards the big picture, salvation. John knew of sin, his past life dissolute and aimless.

But he liked feeling good in his own skin, and exfoliation was a necessity.

That was why the first follower that burst in his room found himself facing John in a cucumber mask. There was a tense, silent moment. Then the man lunged at him, a hundred-sixty-something pounds of dead weight tackling him down.

“Dottie, get in here! I’ve got him!” bellowed the man, rough hands pushing John to the ground.

“What are you _doing_?”, he managed to screech.

“I’m sorry, sir, but we’ve gotta save you!”, whispered the follower, as someone else entered the room.

“Hold his face down, so it doesn’t run away!”

“What?!”, he mumbled, unease crawling up his spine.

And then someone tugged at his beard, and he howled with pain.

“It’s not coming off!”

“Well, try again,” answered the one holding him down.

Another violent pull.

“Enough!”

* * *

Standing glowering in his ranch’s foyer, followers cowering at the dinner table, and staring at some… trashy tabloid paper, was not how John imagined spending his evening.

“So, would one of you like to explain exactly what went through your mind?”

The people before him kept quiet. Unbelievable: grown adults, all having atoned and well on their way to salvation, and they reverted to children before his very eyes. No wonder they needed the Family.

“This paper here says you’ve got some evil demon thing sucking your soul out.”

“.... What?”

He grabbed the tabloid irritably. There, in bold letters, stood the headline _**John Seed’s Beard Actually a Demonspawn Leech?**_

“Who wrote this?”

“We don’t know, sir,” piped up a high-strung woman in the corner.

“You’re a moron, Jackie. Everyone knows it was those Resistance sinners,” nudged her seatmate. “And maybe that outsider girl that’s been running with them.”

John felt his blood chill. “What outsider?”

“You know, that cop lady we couldn’t find?”

Oh, _wonderful_. He had now a duty to Joseph to find the rogue sinner, and then he’d be set back probably days, _weeks_ , off schedule. John pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Well, keep an eye on whoever distributes this. This smells like trouble, and troubled people don’t say yes.”

A scrawny man raised his hand hesitantly.

“And no, it isn’t an actual demon. It’s hair. It’s just facial hair, grown by me. The Father has a beard too.”

The man’s hand lowered slowly. The rest of the followers nodded, and wandered back to their duties.

John dragged his hands over his face, and held back a shout when they came away covered in cucumber-aloe vera paste.


	2. Wilderness Survival: on the trail of the elusive Jacob Seed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spending all your time running around like an elusive cryptid is not the way you get people to leave you alone, is it Jacob?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To note: my Dahlia isn't an actual deputy, and is instead running around the region like a headless chicken while actual officers are trying to bring down the heralds. She writes clickbait articles for fun.
> 
> If you like Deputy/Jacob, do yourself a favor and go read ClockworkCourier's [Breaker Breaker](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14682333/chapters/33922911)

Jacob would never have, before or after his brothers found him again, been described as a talkative man. He took the orders, made the plan happen no matter what. He liked to see it this way: Joseph got the vision, and John got the face and pretty words, but he, the strongest one, got the duty. To protect his siblings and their project, to mold what might be the next settlers of the Earth into capable warriors, into the strong that would assure the conquest of Eden.

Those deputies running around, wreaking havoc on carefully laid plans, were an annoyance. Gnats, to be crushed underfoot. Better that he be the shield for these bothersome interlopers’ interference, and if that meant he had to suffer drunken midnight freestyle karaoke, so be it. Deputy Oakley’s instrumental taste made for good entertainment. Absent-mindedly, he toyed with the music box in his pocket with one hand, scratched the Judge walking at his side with the other. Better to give this deputy purpose, save the pup from the aimless fighting the Whitetails were certainly having her do. Lost in his thoughts, Jacob failed to notice the surreptitious looks the followers were giving him. A grievous mistake. There was a flash as he exited the compound.

He had the offender in a headlock the next second. 

“Who sent you?!” he barked harshly, arms tightening.

The Judge whined low, snout poking his ribs. Belatedly, he realized he had one of his Chosen in his grip, red ski mask pulled taught over struggling breaths. He loosened his hold, though he kept the man in his grip.

“Oh  _ please  _ mighty Sasquatch, don’t-eat-me,” he squeaked.

“What was that?” said Jacob, muscles tense.

“Nothing, sir,” he choked out. 

“Are you as much a liar as you are stupid? There’s no place here or in Eden for those.”

The Chosen muffled back a grunt. “Was, I was taking a, you see…”

“Careful,” said Jacob as he tightened his arms.

“There’s a bounty, for, uhm. For pictures.”

“Pictures?” he repeated, disbelief seeping in his tone.

“Yes. Let me, let me show you.”

The man wriggled around, thrashing like an eel. Jacob, somewhat freaked out, let him go. He promptly fished around his all-camo outfit-  _ how tacky _ , would say his littlest brother at the sight- 

“Here you go, the latest, uh, Chronicles,” the Chosen said, shoving papers at his face.

Jacob grabbed irritably at them.

“Didn’t we chase those sinners out years ago? There hasn’t been a Hope County Chronicles since,” he asked his other followers.

They all did their best to look ignorant, shrugs and all. Useless,  _ weak _ . A culling would be had soon. He turned back to the papers, all of them stained to varying degrees. They consisted of one single-page leaflet, in black and white regular letters- which meant access to a printing press, supplies, means of distribution. Now where would one get that in-

Wait.

No.

Was that...? On the very last one, an hideously grainy photograph of him wrist-deep in a cheesy chips bag. Above, in disgusting bold letters,  **Wilderness Survival: on the trail of the elusive Jacob Seed.**

The associated article blabbed just like what he’d expect from Bigfoot hunters, without the misspellings and syntax errors- and, more importantly, about him. It ended on a call for better images, to prove or disprove his existence. And a signature, initials. Until then, Jacob had thought it the work of Cody- _  Deputy Oakley _ , not the time to get attached, Jakey boy- a misguided attempt to get back at him for her drunken embarrassment. But this D.H.? He didn’t know who, sinner or saved, weak or strong, had this name.

Best he call John, to see if he remembered anything.

* * *

In the treeline, Dahlia smiled, and took the picture.


	3. Interlude: too many people hiking in this damned forest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "What are you doing out here anyway?”  
> “What a father should: praying for guidance, visiting my children. Preparing the chosen for the end that your friends are bringing down on us all.”  
> “Oh, sounds cool,” she shouted over her shoulder as she ziplined to the next tree. “Sure you weren’t just lost?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Major thanks to [childofmalkav](http://http://childofmalkav.tumblr.com/) and [hawkfurze](http://hawkfurze.tumblr.com/) for help nailing down the dialogue. turns out joseph's a chatterbox, which is _problématique_ if you can't get his voice right.

There weren’t many places to hide out around the Sacred Youths Sky Camp. Not for someone in a purple checkered blouse, and especially not if that someone had two left hands when it came to marksmanship. Dahlia didn’t mind, anyway. She had no feelings whatsoever about being left out of important, critical missions, and of course, she had so much work to catch up on, out in Nowhere, Montana. No problem.

But oh, the place was real pretty. Big Sky Country, Anna May had laughed over beer and corndogs. Looking out over the mountains, Dahlia agreed. She leaned her head against the tree trunk. Hand on the radio, just in case the team needed help. And maybe she could take this moment for herself, something to keep close to her heart before rushing back headlong in the wake of the deputies’ fury. A little piece of peace. She snapped a picture, to share later with the Chronicles.

* * *

 

Dahlia had no idea how long she spent watching the blue, fingers clutching at her radio, soul bared to wide sunny skies, before she heard a sound on the path. How stupid of her to start dozing off! Knee, no, neck deep in cult territory! She stilled, not even daring to breathe. The footsteps approached, heavy over the rocky path. And humming.

A song? No, the first notes of the same melody, repeated, muted. One of those culty choir from the radio?

The person - just one, no talking, only one set of footsteps- stopped not too far. Dahlia took a peek.

Oh, _hell_.

It was Manbun Asshole-in-Chief, dressed like a religious scarecrow, though he at least wore a shirt this time. The “Father” stood before one of creepy cross marker on the path. Dahlia doubted he was alone. Twisting herself slowly around the tree branch, she scanned the ground. Nothi- yes, there, fifty paces away. Two of those armed guard types, red ski masks conspicuous in the greenery, chatting. This was bad, this was very, very bad. Okay, what to do? She could sit up there and wait for them to pass, but no telling how long she would have to. She should at least try and get the info out to the actual cops, but-

Wait. This was the perfect occasion to interview the man responsible for the mess they were in. Yes. She was out of their reach, there were some ziplines shooting off in two different directions, a sheer cliffside drop she could parachute from, and the team was a radio call away. _A_ _udentis Fortuna iuvat_ , and she was feeling especially bold today.

“Hello!” she shouted, head popping out of the foliage with a practiced grin. “Do you have the time for a quick interview?”

To his credit, the cult leader only jumped back a little. He seemed to relax quite quickly, though he did move to cover his face.

“You’re more than welcome to join us at the compound, if you have questions.”

“I've gotten enough of your theology from the pamphlets, thank you,” she waved the invitation aside. “I'm just trying to get-"

She paused. Joseph’s nose was broken, bandaged. His glasses hung haphazardly on top of the cloth. Dahlia whistled.

“Wow, they really did a number on you. Anna May told me she got, well, one right in the sucker in that bliss hallucination, and Jenna at the baptism thing.”

Joseph frowned, his face crunching up beneath the bandages. Ah! So the dangerous demagogue really had some emotion other than “in direct communication with psychosis induced delusions.” Good to know.

Joseph’s voice took on a dangerous tone.

“You could climb down if you want to talk, you know.”

She unclipped her descender grab from her belt, and hooked it over the rope. Dahlia glanced at the ground with a frown.

“Yeah, hard pass on that. What are you doing out here anyway?”

“What a father should: praying for guidance, visiting my children. Preparing the chosen for the end that your friends are bringing down on us all.”

“Oh, sounds, cool,” she shouted over her shoulder as she ziplined to the next tree. “Sure you weren’t just _lost_?”

“Less than you are now,” he answered, like some sort of cryptic guru, which, _yeah, he kinda is_ , she thought. “Why talk to me at all, if you did not seek the truth?”

And alright, Dahlia had a quick wit, a smart mouth and caustic words, but the man was a little out there. He had no time to lose on lost reporters in the middle of the forest, if his walking away was any indication. She slid off the platform, hurrying.

“Hey, buddy, I got questions for you! You can’t just run- walk- powerhike away from me!”

Tripping over herself in her haste, Dahlia jogged further down the path. She had mysteries that needed answering! And no idea when the next opportunity would be, without cultists. Wait, of course, with the exception of the actual cultist she was interviewing.

“Just five questions, please.”

Joseph kept walking, head held high. She was a bit jealous of his ease with the physically demanding hike- and, no. Not envy, she didn't want to end up having to confess.

“What about three?” she gasped between half-jogs, duffel bag bumping against her back and camera against her sternum.

“Don't come any closer!” he hissed.

“Where- where the hell is your shirt? You had it on like, ten seconds ago.”

“I took it off, my face is covered enough for this weather.”

“That doesn’t answer any-  you know what, fine, fine. Don't know why you need to show off so much, but okay? Off the record, not writing any of this down,” she said, making a show of turning off the radio. “I read your manifesto.”

“My Book, you mean. Words are important, more so to people like you, aren’t they?”

“Yes, the- urgh. Is it true, though? How much of that did you make up?”

“If you’ve read it like you say, you already know exactly how much.”

Dahlia saw red, for a second. Oh, she forgot how much she hated interviewing nutjobs. So, so much. “Let’s say I believe you, that the world truly is ending soon because of-"

“Are you so blind you deal in hypotheticals? Open your eyes! We are hurtling to collapse, greed and sin hammering on our heads.”

“So what, I’m supposed to join your commune and forget how to use a hairbrush? I'd rather fight for the here and now, pal.”

“You would wager your soul on it?” he asked, somber. “Make light of the end of this world?”

“Well, yeah. _Alea iacta non est_ , or something. You gotta have faith in people.”

“I put my faith in the Lord, in the children brought here to me, anxious for salvation. Not in the depravity of men,” Joseph announced, like he were still preaching at his pulpit.

She could see the brimstone, the hellfire simmering.

“I can see you yet doubt. You know I am right, you know God is with me. You can still be saved, Dahlia.”

“Am I supposed to be impressed you know my name? You’ll need at least a couple miracles before that, buddy.”

He started to speak, no doubt gearing up for some grandiloquent sermon, when something crashed back up the path. _Shit, the guards_.

Dahlia froze for a second, deer under yellow-sunglasses headlights, then bolted for the trees, for the road, for safety. No looking back, not with hell at her heels.

  
And the next week's paper was just a large picture of clear, blue Montana skies.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't hesitate to hop on over to [my tumblr](http://http://http://mademoisellegush.tumblr.com/) if you prefer to comment there / have prompts / just want to talk about fc5!


End file.
